Roses and Berries
by Breeze xxx
Summary: What if Foxface was a spy for the rebels? Please read and review! I don't own the Hunger Games, obviously.
1. Snow

**Hi everyone! Please read and review my story, I hope you like it. Foxface is a character I could really go into depth with, so that's why I wrote this! Please tell me if you feel I am portraying her correctly. Thanks! Xx**

Dust filling my lungs, I resist the urge to cough as I inch my hands further down the cold metal vent. Slowly, I raise my body onto my hands and slide forwards, lifting my boots as I go so that they won't scrape. I must be careful to make absolutely no sound, as my vent is running along the ceilings of corridors and rooms, and one tiny noise would echo loudly.

I keep sliding myself forwards, wincing as my shirt rides up a little and my stomach comes into contact with the freezing metal. I dare not make a move to put it down, so I will have to live with it.

The vent begins to narrow and I squeeze myself through, thankful for once that I am skinny. This is when I hear the first murmur of sound.

Finally! Four and a half hours painstakingly sliding through a vent, and only now can I do what I am here for- spying. I work for the Beehive, District Five's rebel base, led and named for Plutarch Heavensbee, a man who came from the Capitol to incite rebellion. He will pay me well if I report any useful information. What he doesn't know is that if I get a better deal from someone else, I'm with him.

I train my eyes on the floor of the metal vent, searching for the weakness that led me to hear the voices. My eyes slide over every inch, looking, looking…

There! A small crack in the metal, no longer than my thumbnail, no wider than the cuticle. Years of this sort of thing means that I have a very acute sense of hearing and observation.

I press my ear to the crack. I have no idea which room I am listening into, nor whom I am listening to, but I can guess that only two people are in the room. I cannot hear any more voices than that.

'Congratulations, Mr. Crane, on becoming Head Gamemaker once again,' says a smooth male voice that I would guess belongs to quite an old person. He is with Seneca Crane, which is good news for me. I might learn something interesting.

'It is an honour, sir, one which I highly enjoy,' replies a young male voice, obviously Seneca Crane. Sir? This suggests that the first voice belongs to someone of high stature.

'I assume the arena is prepared?' says the first voice.

'Indeed. Only some…ah…surprises for the tributes are in need of being thought up,' says Seneca. Good! They are discussing the arena for this year, something the Beehive will surely be interested in.

'I have had an idea, Mr. Crane,' says the first voice with a cruel laugh.

'Yes, President Snow?' asks Seneca. I give a small gasp. I am listening in on _President Snow himself! _Surely nobody else at the Beehive has managed to do that. This is when I realize it is silent below, perhaps because of my gasp. I hold my breath. Luckily, President Snow goes on.

'I was thinking at the end, with maybe only two or three tributes left, we have mutations of huge dogs. They look like…well, let me give you an example. Say one of the dead tributes is small, has black hair and green eyes? Then that is what…' President Snow is interrupted by the excited voice of Seneca Crane.

"What the mutts look like! Genius, President, genius!'

'One of my better ideas, I must say,' says Snow, sounding pleased. I feel disgusted. Basically the dead tributes are coming back as horrible revenge-seeking mutts.

_Creeeeak. _Oh no. Oh no! My vent can't hold me! I shuffle backwards as quickly and quietly as I can, although surely by now I have been heard. Back, back, back!

'PEACEKEEPERS!' roars Seneca Crane. My breathing is ragged and my heart is beating hard. Faster, I tell myself. Just keep going!  
_Creeeeak…CRACK! _The vent suddenly splits in front of me, and behind. For what feels like minutes but it really second, I am glued to the roof of the vent as it falls, and with a crash that sends shudders right through my body it hits the floor. Apart from being shaken, though, I think I am uninjured.

Hands grope inside the vent, and I try to bite their fingers but Peacekeeper gloves are too padded. The hands find a grip on my long, thick red hair and they yank hard, bringing tears to my eyes. As soon as my head and shoulders are out of the vent, the white-clad Peacekeepers grab under my arms and forcefully drag me out and stand me up. One Peacekeeper holds my arms behind my back, another holds a gun to my right temple, and many stand around me. Any attempt to struggle or escape would be futile.

President Snow approaches, his snakelike eyes locked on mine, his puffy lips stretched into a smile. 'Well, hello there, little spy!' he says, lifting up my chin. 'What is your name? I'm sure we'll get along just fine.'

This man is sick. Twisted. And so I remain silent.

'I said…' President Snow takes a small, cruel-looking knife from his pocket and presses it into my cheek. I can feel a small trickle of blood, warm against my skin.

'Rain,' I say. President Snow withdraws the knife. I take a deep breath through my nose and almost choke on the overpowering smell of too-sweet roses and blood.

'Rain what?' Snow asks, stepping back.

'Rain Midwood,' I say, without any hint of weakness.

'District?' he asks.

'Five.'

'Now. What we do with you is simple- you must be punished,' he says. I spit in his face. His smile vanishes as he wipes it away. 'You must be punished, most probably by death. You understand?' I nod. He acts like I am four years old.

'The question is how. Shall you be an Avox? Hung? Whipped? Tortured with one of our countless methods which will leave you begging for death?' he laughs. I remain as calm as I can.

Seneca Crane looks uncomfortable. 'She's only a child,' he mutters.

President Snow turns to face him. 'Coming from the man who is mainly responsible for 23 deaths of children in this year alone?' he snarls. Seneca Crane bows his head and stands back.

President Snow faces me again. 'But Crane is right. You are a child. Fourteen, fifteen? So I will give you the worst fate a child can have.' He stares into my eyes and all I see is a monster. He knows I know what it is.

'The Hunger Games,' I say, trying to sound brave but my voice cracking. And because I was spying, I won't be coming out of that arena.

'May the odds be ever in your favour, Miss Midwood.'


	2. Glass

**Hello! Please review and tell me what you think, I am proud of this story and I welcome anything that might make it better, so please tell me!**

Thousands of slips in that glass ball on the stage. I stare at it so hard I feel like it could burst into flames, fire that would eat up every name on the paper. But when I say every name, I mean repeats of the same name, over and over on each and every one. Rain Midwood.

I look away from the stage to find a distraction, to take my mind off my imminent death. My eyes are drawn to a little girl, probably twelve years old, embracing her mother. Her face is pale and she is trembling, terrified. I find I want to go over to her, comfort her the way I was never comforted. I want to tell her that it won't be her. She catches my eye and I see the same fear as I am feeling reflected in her eyes. But mine is a hundred times worse.

My eighteen year old brother, Chase, is standing a little way off with his friends. He is a scrawny, gangling man and he looks so out of place compared to his muscular buddies who spend every day working in the power stations, li

fting heavy chunks of metal for building. Chase and I don't have to work at all because our uncle is the mayor of District 5. But just because we're rich doesn't mean we are close.

Even if I had been allowed I wouldn't have wanted to tell my father or brother about my going into the Games. They honestly wouldn't care; in fact my dad is so out of it he probably wouldn't understand. He spends all day drinking at the pub, I don't like or trust Chase, and I don't have a mother. Therefore I have no-one.

I smooth down the soft light green fabric of my best friend's birthday present to me, a pretty dress. Skylet's mother owns a dressmakers, so she always has the nicest clothes to wear and give.

Speaking of Skylet, I see her as I glance around the crowd of children. Her strawberry-blonde hair is tied back with a blue ribbon and she wears a matching blouse and white skirt.

"Skylet! Over here!" I say, loud enough for her to hear me but not loud enough to attract attention. She sees me and makes her way towards me and the other fifteen-year-old girls.

"Hello Rain," she whispers. Her face is bloodless and I can't stand seeing her like this. It's the same every year- she can barely talk with apprehension. And now I know I have to tell her, before my name is pulled out of the reaping ball.

"Skylet, I have to tell you something," I whisper confidentially. "I was working for the Beehive as always in the Capitol-" I pause while she nods for me to go on. "-and I got caught spying on Snow."

Skylet gasps and goes even whiter. "But…you're still…."

"Alive? But not for long. I'm going into the Hunger Games, Skylet." I whisper quickly. Her eyes roll up and she falls to the floor in a dead faint.

"Skylet!" I cry, bending down. She begins to stir. Male arms reach down and lift her up.

"Don't worry, I've got her." I stand up, look at the man and I can't believe my eyes. It's Tempest!

I never even realized that the previous victors had entered the square. Tempest, a young, deep-brown haired tribute won the Hunger Games at the age of fifteen two years ago and since then has become District 5's idol. He won by hiding, then when there were only 4 others left he cleverly led them to each other using fires and his voice. There was a huge bloodbath which he steered clear of, then when there was only one badly injured girl left he stepped out from the shadows and killed her.

I have never known Tempest as handsome, and neither does the rest of 5, we see him as an idol for his wisdom. But now, looking into his silvery-green eyes, I don't know how I didn't see it before.

"What's your name?" Tempest asks me.

"Rain. And that's Skylet." I reply, suddenly extremely jealous of my best friend cradled in Tempest's arms, but I hide it, just like I hide all my other feelings.

Skylet is awake now, and Tempest sets her down and smiles warmly at me. "The reaping is about to begin," he says and walks off. I hope he will choose to be my mentor! As there is more than one male and female victors of 5, although most of them are wasted away, they can choose or be chosen to be mentors. I glance at the rest of the victors, about six apart from Tempest. There is one alcoholic throwing up on the stage.

Electra Fizzine, our escort, adorned in her trademark metallic colours, marches across the stage in purple clogs. Her hair is like shiny blue icicles down her back. She coughs loudly.

"Welcome EVERYONE, to the 74th Annual HUNGER Games REAPING," she booms, some words obviously a lot louder than others. That's another trademark of hers.

"Watch this LOVELY video." She beams at the screen, which plays the same video we watch every year, beginning and ending with the seal of Panem.

"Now for the LADIES," Electra says, walking over to the girl's reaping ball. She reaches a plump hand in, and even though I know what she is going to say my heart is beating out of my chest and I can't breathe.

"RAIN MIDWOOD," Electra shouts. I relax my face, look straight ahead and shake back my hair. I try to look one step ahead with a small serene smile as I walk confidently up the stage steps. I must look like I have a plan, mysterious.

"Here we ARE. Now the HANDSOME men," Electra shouts. Up close I try not to wince as her loud voice is bursting my eardrums. Maybe those Peacekeeper helmets aren't just there for physical protection.

"Grant Thistle," she says, quieter for some reason. A boy my age, in my class at school, comes up to the stage and up the steps. He has a serious look in his eyes and his tousled auburn hair is swept over his face. The girls at school are obsessed with him, even though he is completely uninterested.

Tempest catches my eye as I shake hands with Grant, and he looks sorrowful. Probably he knows there is no way I am escaping that arena. Even if I had not been caught and I was reaped by chance, I wouldn't live.

Who on earth would think that I could?

**I have seen this done before, so I want to do it as well- questions!**

**What do you think of Grant? Should I put more of him in?**

**Would you like some romance? I hinted at it with Tempest but tell me if you think it's the wrong way to go.**

**Thanks for reading! xx**


	3. Porcelain

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Please do so people, I really want to know…do you like? You hate? You love? Please tell! On with the story!**

I am led into the Justice Building where Grant and I are separated. He disappears with a dozen Peacekeepers through a door on the right, and I keep going down a long white corridor, dusty and with paint peeling on the walls. I take a shaky breath and the Peacekeeper on my right steers me forcefully through a large wooden door. This is where I will say my goodbyes.

Immediately I collapse on the small wooden chair provided for me and the doors swing shut. I am alone with nothing but the chair, the lemon-yellow walls and my fear. I swallow, as if pushing down my scared thoughts and make myself think logically, like I have done all my life.

I can't survive. I can't win. But what I want to do is make sure President Snow will never forget me, the spy with the red hair who did what no other has dared to do before. I want to die on my own terms.

I have just calmly finished this thought before the door once again opens, and Skylet enters, her face pale and withdrawn, eyes huge and frightened like a rabbit's. 'Hello Rain,' she says quietly.

'Hey,' I reply. And for obvious reasons Skylet bursts into a flood of tears that I can now see were barely held back. I hold my arms out and she runs into them, and I am comforting her although I know I should be the one being comforted.

'I don't want to say goodbye,' she hiccups uselessly. Other tributes' friends will have at least a little hope for them, but Skylet has absolutely none.

'I know. But it'll be alright, just hold it together okay?' I say. Skylet nods and releases me, wiping her eyes furiously. 'I'll get to see the Capitol! I've heard they have amazing hats there.' Skylet smiles a ghost of a smile, which vanishes as soon as the doors open again. She does not scream as they take her away. She walks away serenely, tears pouring down her face. The last image I will ever have of my best friend is her big blue eyes, looking longingly and forlornly at me. Then the doors close once more and she is gone.

Such little time they give us to say, for most of us, what will be our final words to the people we love and who we have grown up with. Cold anger that I only ever feel when thinking about the Capitol fills my heart, and I can imagine all of them in their disgusting clothes and makeup in the arena. In my mind I see them all one by one dying, screaming in pain, feeling what tributes in the Districts have to go through. It makes me smile.

I hear footsteps and I am snapped back to reality as Chase and my father enter the room. For a few minutes we stand awkwardly, and suddenly Chase leaps forwards and grabs me in a huge smothering hug. I admit, not much startles me and I could see the hug coming, but that does not mean I didn't feel extremely squished.

'Oww!' I murmur and Chase lets me go, embarrassment visible on his face. Father smirks at me.

'Gotta be tougher than that if ya wanna get out o' there,' he slurs, still drunk. Fury once again fills me, but this time it is hot. Red hot. And I raise my hand and slap my father's cheek, hard. It leaves a satisfactory red mark and a look of pure astonishment on his face.

'Would you ever stop drinking?' I yell. 'I am going to die!'

'Nah, you got a chance!' Chase says.

'No. I don't. I am not coming out! I'm not and you know it!' I snap. I avoid telling them why I know this though. I realize that I am shaking and Chase once again wraps his arms around me. This is the hug and reassurance I have been looking for all my life, yet until now my brother has failed to do so.

Peacekeepers enter and grab my father's arm and Chase's shoulder, and as he is wrenched away from me I whisper, 'Sorry.' Chase shakes his head and smiles, his eyes watery. Father is actually crying now as he is dragged off. I say 'I love you' once, and they are gone.

Barely seconds pass until the Peacekeepers come once again for me. Outside the room I notice something that was not there before- on the wall there is a large rip in the wallpaper, as if something had scraped its claws along it. Something red that looks horribly like blood trickles down the wall to a small puddle on the floor. The stench of roses fill the air, and I know for certain that the mark is a sick warning from President Snow, that my death is near.

I suddenly burst away from the Peacekeepers and dash down the corridor, away, away from the claw mark. All the muscles in my body are tense and I feel as if I am about to crumble. The Peacekeepers have just caught up to me as I fall to my knees and silently sob, wishing fervently that I could trade places with someone, anyone. And at that moment, I know that something inside me has cracked, like my heart is a fragile thing of porcelain, and I need to be careful not to break it. I must hold myself together.

I am yanked roughly to my feet and painfully dragged to the train, but I do not utter a sound. I feel like I will never speak again. We enter the train into a breathtaking room of dark purple and green velvet chairs, dark wooden tables and gold carts carrying delicious small bites of food. Despite my forlornness I grab a little honey cake, and as it literally melts in my mouth I think about all those tiny empty bellies back home. Since I am going to die, it can't hurt to eat, can it?

I take a handful of the honey cakes and a small glass of berry-flavoured water and sit down. I wipe the last of the tear marks off my face and bite into another cake, sighing happily. My eyes dart up as Grant and Electra enter the room.

'Enjoying the CAKES, I SEE!' Electra beams at me. I nod, my mouth too full to reply. Grant looks very indifferent, and sits down in the seat beside me. He gives me a small smile before stuffing a chocolate wafer-like thing in his mouth, and closes his eyes, drifting off. How can he sleep at a time like this? I must admire his cool collectedness though.

Two more people enter the room- Tempest and Rita. They must have either volunteered or been chosen to be our mentors! I try to swallow down the bubble of joy in me as I see Tempest's face, and look down at my lap.

Tempest is my mentor! I think. And nothing else seems to matter, not Grant's scowl at Tempest, not Electra being ecstatic over a chocolate fountain. Only my imminent death can cloud over my mind.


End file.
